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“No, one of us knows you’re a delusional asshole. I felt…connected to you, and you were faking it? Of course you were. You were never going to want me. God, I’m an idiot.”
Does Morgana try to stir my pity and trick me into admitting how desperately I desire her? Never. I will bite off my tongue before admitting I felt the bond between us.
“I won’t make the mistake of letting you touch me again,” she vows. “Get the hell away from me—and stay away! As soon as the sun comes up, I’m leaving.”
Can she? Morgana spoke the Call, and I answered. Though I possess not a drop of magical blood, I suspect those words are binding—for us both. So regardless of her pull, she cannot go, and I cannot let her. Yet somehow, I must guard against falling deeper under her beguiling spell.
I don my clothes in angry jerks. “I care not. I have no use for a witch, especially a treacherous Le Fay.”
I slam the bedroom door behind me. Instantly, I feel Morgana on the other side. Her confusion. Her sadness. My anger glories, encouraging me to continue my rampage.
But her absence bludgeons me with a deprivation that’s almost painful.
Christ, the power of this pull between us…
I force myself to prowl my cottage, calling upon my limited knowledge of magical mating bonds. If I am stuck with Morgana for eternity, will she be every bit as bewitched as me? Or am I doomed to obsess over the witch who has given me naught but endless hell?
The questions haunt me as I sink onto the sofa, cradling my head in my hands. I fear I will crave her. Forever. With our mating, she saw to that—and probably takes perverse pleasure even now in crushing me.
The only other possibility is…unfathomable.
This new Morgana surrendered not merely her body to me, but herself. She pleaded for me. She cried out in pleasure. She teared up afterward, exposing her emotions as clearly as words on the page of a book. I read them all. So unlike the Morgana I lay with centuries ago.
What if…she isn’t Morgana, but a Le Fay woman named Olivia? What if her birthmark and those violet eyes were passed down generation after generation? What if she is a twenty-three-year-old innocent who just gave herself to me?
Nay. My dream of her was too vivid, too powerful. Who else but Morgana could concoct something so real? Her unpredictable behavior must be a new, more subtle form of warfare she’s chosen to wage.
Then battle we will. Peaceful death and release from this hell of her making; I will not stop until I have them. Though I crave revenge, I can never repay Morgana for the pain she has inflicted or for the centuries of loneliness I have endured.
But I will endeavor to do my best.
Chapter Eighteen
The dream of Morgana, in the guise of Olivia, pelts me again.
She stands before me like temptation personified, naked and exquisite. A vivid, erotic vision I suspect Morgana orchestrated for my torture.
But in this dream, instead of disappearing into the swirling mist after she lures me with her exquisite body, she curls her arms around my neck, presses tight to me, and kisses me with wild abandon. I hold her, taste her candied mouth, and drink in her fevered responses. An unshakable lust curls in my belly. Unable to resist, I lay her flat on my bed, seize her hips, and blindly tunnel in, groaning in sheer relief as we join.
My solace is fleeting. As before, Morgana opens the Doomsday Diary and disappears.
I awaken on my couch in a cold sweat. Darkness engulfs me. My cock throbs, stiff and aching. When did I last wake hard and hungry for a female? A few centuries past, at least—after I realized Morgana’s curse was not a riddle but a paradox I can never solve. When I accepted that I would never again have relief.
This unwelcome erection must be her doing.
The second she crosses my brain, urgency forces me to my feet. I cannot reach my “wife” fast enough. Of course I must ensure she did not flee. I cannot be free of her torment until she opens that bloody book.
Is that the only reason you seek her?
Silencing the voice in my head, I stop at the threshold of my bedroom. Through the shadow, I see her sleeping in my bed where I claimed her.
I sigh in relief before I bury the feeling.
On her side, she lies curled, hair wild around her, her body wrapped in my blanket. Moonlight glimmers off the silvery paths on her face. Tears?
At the sight, something twists in my chest.
I tiptoe to the bedside. Before I can stop myself, I kneel and graze her cheek, as if I can soothe her with a simple touch. As if I should even want to comfort Morgana…
